


the light of the hours that have made me.

by chezvous



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chezvous/pseuds/chezvous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles and one morning in Westchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the light of the hours that have made me.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and cut text from Gavin Mikhail's "Sitting on the Edge of the World."

Of all the places Erik Lehnsherr thought he would be, this was quite possibly the very furthest. In this bed so vast it might stand to be called a small ship, struggling to stay afloat in a sea of slippery-fine sheets, clinging to this brilliant, contrary man as if he may drown without him.

The sun streams in cheerfully through the wide bay window, casting beams of white light on their bodies, and the sheets feel cool on his skin, but the fire of Charles' mouth and the exquisite twist of his body as he sinks down again, writhing, in imitation of the ivy carvings on the mahogany headboard overtake everything else.

At the juncture between earth, fire, and heaven; if ever there was such a thing, then surely it must be here.

 _Erik_ , and then, "Erik--"

Charles' skin is white and soft, dents easily beneath the press of his fingers and blooms red and violet from his lips and teeth, the flesh of a man who has never known hunger or strife beyond a mild automobile malfunction at the most inconvenient of times or a less-than-satisfactory mark in school.

Erik finds he does not envy this life, does not envy Charles Xavier in any way except for perhaps his stunning lack of self-preservation because in this moment, Erik knows for certain that if Charles were to find the edge of the world and leap from it, he would follow without a single backward glance.

It's a dangerous thought, but then Charles moves again, a high whine escaping from his parted lips, and his caution is turned to the wind.

Sometimes he wonders how Charles sees him, what possesses him to want anything he has to give beyond his powers. It’s not that Erik is self-loathing—though there is a measure in that, it’s diminished some since he came to Westchester—but his future does not extend much further beyond finding and killing Sebastian Shaw. Charles can help, which is why Erik is here.

But that still doesn’t explain why he’s  _here_ , in a needlessly luxurious bed with a man who can reach out to the world in an instant and yet chooses to stay right where he is now. It’s something Erik knew once, still too far away for him to fully grasp, so he holds tighter onto Charles’ waist instead as they rock together, sliding a hand to the small of his back to steady him and running his fingers through the sweat that has pooled there.

Charles pushes his nose into the crook of Erik's neck, panting softly as he rolls his hips back to meet his thrusts, languid but thorough. For once, he isn't projecting his thoughts, isn't doing anything but letting his eyes flutter shut occasionally as he takes Erik deeper into himself with a hoarse groan. Never letting go completely of his control, but loosenIng it just enough to accept the animal desire that has survived evolution for millions of years to manifest itself in him.

To know thy enemy is to know thyself. Even people like Charles Xavier, evolved and different and extraordinary to the core, must crave to be merely human once in a while and Erik, for all the wrongs that humanity has done him, would not deprive him of that. Beneath his candor, quick wit, and talk of ideology, even Charles gets tired sometimes. It's just that he seems to be the only one who doesn't realize it yet, but Erik knows the loneliness of being what others are not and doing what others cannot do and it makes him crave this man all the more.

It's moments like this where Erik lets himself believe that Charles just might need him in this way, too. Charles doesn't speak to him through mouth nor mind because he doesn't need to, because he trusts that Erik knows what to do, knows his body and where to touch to coax out moans and pleas and  _yes_  and  _ohgod--oh, Erik, oh yes darling, almost there_ \--

The world is so brilliant when Charles finally comes, body tight and arched as gracefully as a bow, that Erik is barely able to utter his name before he follows. They come down together in measured breaths, pooled together in Charles' big bed, and for the moment Erik finds that he doesn't mind at all not knowing whose limbs are whose.

This too is dangerous, but Erik has grown tired. He is tired of chasing, tired of making his own safety, tired of killing in circles without respite. He rolls them over and pillows his head on Charles' chest stubbornly, as if one man could fill all the hollowed-out spaces Erik has carved within himself. How much easier it would be if that were the case, if he could be selfish enough to demand one small measure of peace from the world and just stay here.

 _You know_ , murmurs Charles as he runs his fingers through Erik's hair idly. Erik watches the patterns of light shifting on Charles' stomach and listens.  _You go through life thinking you're quite whole and only then do you find someone who completes you. Interesting, isn't it?_

 _Yes,_  thinks Erik, shutting his eyes against the brightness of the impending day.

 _Yes it is._   



End file.
